


Nous Les Amoureux

by Wheely_Jessi



Series: Song Shots [3]
Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Eurovision, Eurovision Song Contest 1961, F/F, Fluff, Kisses, lots of kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-06 07:07:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14636625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wheely_Jessi/pseuds/Wheely_Jessi
Summary: June 1961.Delia is back and she, Trixie, and Patsy are having their first proper catch up since she moved into Nonnatus. Trixie is a good friend to Patsy and uses the winning song from Eurovision in March that year as a way to signal (not so) subtly to Delia just how much she was missed, and then makes herself scarce on telephone duty.





	Nous Les Amoureux

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cwtchd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cwtchd/gifts).



> @Poplar459 and I were being nerdy about past Eurovision winning songs last night, and the one from 1961, 'Nous Les Amoureux' by Jean Claude Pascal, was just perfect for Pats and Deels. He was gay but closeted and it's such a beautiful song. I wouldn't have found it if not for our chat, so I'm gifting this fluffy oneshot to her (and all of you).
> 
> The song is here: https://youtu.be/C_i6H3bhMLs and the English lyrics are here: https://bit.ly/2KVnfIe

‘Oh, Delia sweetie, it’s so lovely to have you back at last. We all missed you something awful, especially when Eurovision came around in March. We had _quite_ the struggle persuading Sister Monica Joan to let us use the television, but it was worth it, because everyone was enamoured with what turned out to be the winning song, weren’t we, Patsy?’ Trixie let her best friend’s name speak for itself, hoping it would be sufficient as a translation of the real meaning of her statement – some more than most.

The redhead nodded in what she prayed was a serious manner, but could not hide either her blush or smirk, or her slight panic at what the blonde seemed to be implying. Did she _know_? Oh gosh oh gosh oh gosh… Act naturally, Nurse Mount. Taking a quick but deep breath, she answered as nonchalantly as possible. ‘Even if they did cut off the reprise because the broadcast overran!’ Then, thinking she ought to cover by asking a question of her own, she at last allowed herself to look to her left towards her darling as she spoke again. ‘I don’t suppose you were able to catch it, Deels?’

The brunette shook her head, her expression as serious as her sweetheart’s, but the sparkle in her eyes belied the mirth threatening to bubble over at the sight of her older partner’s obvious awkwardness. ‘We have no television, and Mam has full dominion over the wireless and would never sanction such a “scandalous” pastime. Besides, she was still nursing a bruised ego at the fact I’d soon be back here nursing _patients_ …’ She trailed off, with the barest wink, knowing both of the women listening would pick up on the pun couched in her final word.

Trixie grinned across the room at her cleverness. ‘Nursing patients indeed, Delia,’ she repeated, relishing the fact that one of the faces in front of her seemed completely incapable of regulating its autonomic response to the atmosphere. Patsy really did struggle to admit to her love of popular culture – first musicals and now Eurovision – not to mention of the Welshwoman currently curled up beside her on her bed, their knees as far apart as they could bear for the sake of appearance. Still, that second part made sense, and she understood why it had to be a secret. Just as Jean Claude Pascal understood, or appeared to at any rate, if his lyrics were indicative of his mind (or preferences). On which note, she had a duty to do. Or two. A professional one, in the form of telephone duty, but a personal one in that her station downstairs would afford her roommate with some long-awaited privacy. And that was much more important. They had spent several evenings already in the box room, but that smacked too much of secrecy for them to feel safe, and Trixie knew she owed some solidarity in return for the redhead’s understanding about her Tuesday evening “engagements”. She just had to excuse herself subtly. ‘Talking of patients, sweeties, I’m afraid I must leave you alone. Do you think you can cope without me?’

Patsy was so occupied by trying to calm her crimson countenance that she jumped. ‘Of course, Trix, sorry!’ she said with a somewhat guilty grin.

Subtlety has never been your strength, Franklin, Trixie thought as she stood up. Then, walking to the door, she simply smiled benignly and watched her best friend and her beloved “Nurse Busby” visibly relax. She was tempted to quip something witty, but decided they deserved total respite tonight, so merely offered an innocuous but meaningful parting phrase. ‘No apologies – and I’ll see you later.’ No apologies ever, Patsy, she added in her head whilst she made her way downstairs. You deserve to blush like that and, instead of hiding it away, to have people remark on how adorable it is. Because it is.

The still red-faced redhead watched the door warily until it clicked shut, before jumping up to follow a little in her best friend’s footsteps; but only to grab a much-loved and recently-neglected book from the drawer of her nightstand. This she shoved tenderly against the slight but significant gap between the door and the floor, and then turned around with the intention of rejoining her girlfriend on the edge of her bed.

But her beloved – and belligerent – Busby was (metaphorically-speaking) several strides ahead of her. The brunette had moved so she was standing just a few paces away, ready to catch the redhead’s eye and request consent to pull her down for a kiss. Delia had intended it to be brief, and chaste, but both their eyes flicked down to the book when she broke apart – and that broke all their restraint.

For kissing, that is. They weren’t _that_ far gone. Not at Nonnatus. Not yet, anyway.

But kissing could be blissful by itself, and they were quite content to linger over lips, to tease with tongues, to hear breaths hitch and hearts pound. Such (not so simple) simple things were still luxurious enough to leave them languid. Drunk with desire. Hungover from hanging on. Aching in anticipation of even the most timid touches after such an extended separation. And careful _cusan_ on a neck or a clavicle, even a daring dip into cleavage, was like nectar – and enough to leave them humming.

Eventually they had to break for breath again and, when they did, Delia laughed low in her diaphragm. ‘I’ve missed this. I’ve missed _you_ ,’ she murmured, nuzzling her nose into that of her favourite nurse. ‘And, whilst I might not have been able to watch or listen to Eurovision this year, I _do_ know who won; and why you like the song so much. He has a secret like ours, doesn’t he, darling?’

Patsy nodded. ‘At least I think so, from the lyrics. I may be reading into them, of course, but…’

‘It seems that it’s hell watching us or else the iron and the fire? I think not, somehow.’

‘You brushed up on your French, Busby?’

‘I thought it was an easy way to illustrate my improved memory to Mam, Mount.’

Her ginger girlfriend grinned. ‘Oh, not to facilitate a particular translation, then?’ she asked with a mock pout.

Her brunette beauty blushed, caught out. ‘Perhaps, Pats…’

‘So, Deels, might you be able to decipher this bit?’ The redhead smiled even wider as she began to recite:

‘ _Mais l’heure va sonner les nuits moins difficiles_

_Et je pourrai t’aimer sans qu’on en parle en ville_

_C’est promis, c’est écrit_ ’

‘I might just manage it, yes – “but the hour is going to ring on the least difficult nights, and I could love you without them talking about it in town. It’s promised, it’s written.” That’s about right, isn’t it, Pats?’

‘It is indeed, Deels. And it _is_ about right – the sentiment, I mean – because it _is_ promised. One day, my darling, I’ll get to tell the world how perfect you are. As Pascal sings, “ _rien n’est plus évident que l’amour_ ” – nothing is more evident, or obvious, than love – and I’m sure society will eventually come to its senses. But until it does, I’m just grateful to have you with me again, because I missed you so. Oh, how I missed you, my love,’ here Patsy paused, pressing a gentle kiss to her girlfriend’s forehead as she contemplated how lucky she felt to have her close. Despite the fact that this closeness required, in many ways, them to be even more discreet. Not just from the nuns, but from Babs – and Trixie, too.

Oh gosh. Trixie. Her best friend's words as she got up to leave flashed through the older woman's mind again, and she grew wary.

Her younger partner saw the change immediately. ‘What is it, _cariad_?’

Patsy decided to be direct. ‘You don’t think Trix has guessed, do you, Deels?’

Delia shook her head. ‘No, Pats, I don’t. But, if she has, I don’t think she’d mind, either, much less spill. She has too many secrets of her own. Relax, love – and let me kiss your worries away?’

‘Well, if you’ve nothing better to do, I could be persuaded to submit…’

‘Are you sure about that, Nurse Mount?’

‘What a question to ask, Nurse Bus–’

Patsy’s indignation was interrupted in a most improper manner – but, for once, she found she could not care.

 _Rien n’est plus évident que l’amour_ ; she rather liked Delia’s reminder of that this evening.

**Author's Note:**

> This was some respite from work for me as I watched the live final last night. I needed fluff. I hope it's suitably sweet enough for you, too. Replies on other things will follow soon <3


End file.
